


Come On, Baby

by firstlightofeos



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Canon Disabled Character, Humor, M/M, Marathon Sex, Mpreg, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-13
Updated: 2014-07-13
Packaged: 2018-02-08 15:26:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1946322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firstlightofeos/pseuds/firstlightofeos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik's almost a week past his due date. He and Charles are trying everything they can think of to speed things along—and of course, there's one method they prefer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come On, Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Unforgotten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforgotten/gifts).



> So I wrote this for Unforgotten aaaaaages ago, in response to something on her tumblr that I can't be bothered to hunt down about, well, what this fic is about. It's her birthday today, so as a gift to her, I'm finally posting it on AO3 for her. <3

"Anything?" Charles asks, breathing heavily, leaning back against the headboard of their bed.

"I'm pretty sure it's not supposed to be an immediate thing," Erik says, his words labored as he carefully maneuvers himself off of Charles to collapse beside him on the bed. He frowns, laying a hand on his frankly massive abdomen. After a few seconds, he says, "But no, it doesn't feel like it."

Charles exhales slowly, letting his head fall back. "Okay," he says. "Okay."

"It is _not_ fucking okay," Erik groans. "I am the size of a beached whale, and have _been_ the size of a beached whale for _months_. I can't be more than forty feet from a bathroom at any point, I can't see my feet, I'm always tired, and we can't even have sex facing each other. This was supposed to be over a fucking week ago!"

Charles sighs, sitting up slightly, one hand reaching out to pet Erik's sweaty hair. 

"I know, love," he says. "I know how frustrating this must be for you—"

"No you don't," Erik grumbles, though he reaches up to grab Charles's hand and twines their fingers together. " _You_ try being pregnant." Before Charles can respond, Erik adds, brusquely, "And don't say that you understand because you're a telepath."

"Wouldn't have dreamed of it," Charles says, his thumb sweeping along the side of Erik's hand. While that might have been a lie eight months ago, when Erik wasn't showing aside from the odd hunger cravings and the morning sickness that meant Charles was getting even less sleep than Erik, it's the truth now. Charles knows, to some degree, what it's like for your body to be foreign to you, changed into a stranger practically overnight, but he can't imagine what it must be like to feel your body belongs to someone who hasn't even been born yet. 

"Couldn't you just—" Erik waggles the fingers of his free hand up by his temple. 

"We've discussed this," Charles says. "Aside from the fact that babies will come out when they're meant to come out, and that they will know that far better than you, or I, or your phalanx of doctors, I don't want to risk the harm that telepathically inducing labor might do to either the baby or you." 

"Doctors induce labor with drugs all the time," Erik grumbles. 

"In a method that has been tested, and studied, and verified, and optimized over years of practice," Charles points out. "No one knows how the fetal brain responds to telepathic command, and it's not an experiment I'm particularly interested to try. Besides, if Moira doesn't think it's a good idea to induce your labor with drugs, I can't see how inducing labor with telepathy would be much better."

"So what you're saying," Erik says, half-mumbling into Charles's hip, "is we just need to keep having sex."

Charles snorts. "You know there are other things on that list of things we can try."

"They didn't work, either."

"No," Charles agrees, "but perhaps a combination of things would be best, hmm?"

"I'm not eating any more whole jalapeños," Erik grumbles. "I just got gassy and felt sick for half the day."

"No jalapeños," Charles agrees. "I think we still have some cut pineapple in the fridge, though, if you want some."

"Not now." Erik sighs, and rolls onto his side, curling up beside Charles and pillowing his head on Charles's lap. "Maybe later, after another round."

Charles laughs quietly. "Not right now," he says. "You know there are limits to how frequently I can take the Viagra; anyway, you're half-asleep." He strokes Erik's hair soothingly. If he adds a slight telepathic burst encouraging Erik to go to sleep, he's just taking care of both Erik and their baby, given that Erik hasn't been getting much sleep between his overactive bladder and his growing worry about the fact that he's still pregnant a week past his due date. 

Erik yawns. "Nap, then," he says, settling himself even more into Charles's lap. "And then sex."

"Whatever you say, dear," Charles says, still petting Erik's hair as his eyes slip shut and his breathing evens out. 

Charles waits for a few minutes, making sure Erik really is asleep, and then carefully extricates himself, sliding ungracefully into his chair. He needs to use the bathroom, and then he'll cut some more pineapple (and maybe add some chili powder, just as an experiment) and call Moira just to check in. He's also got some papers that need grading—he's not on paternity leave yet, though he's been thinking about calling in sick until the baby's born, to take advantage of the sex marathon Erik's demanding they have. Charles knows that when the baby comes, it'll likely be a while before they have time to do anything more creative than some mutual masturbation before collapsing into bed, so they might as well make use of their time now. Besides, it's been long enough—surely the baby will be ready to come out sooner rather than later. 

Two days later, Charles is about ready to throw in the towel and declare himself sexed-out, when Erik, just after driving himself down onto Charles's cock, freezes. 

"What?" Charles says, worried. "What is it?"

" _Fuck_ ," Erik says, falling forward; Charles can tell that if there weren't a pregnant belly in the way, Erik would be hunched over himself. All the metal in the room starts straining, rattling ominously. 

"Erik," Charles says frantically, "what _is_ it?" All he can feel from Erik's mind is a blinding burst of pain—which, thankfully, recedes after a few seconds, though Erik is still breathing heavily. 

Charles tightens his grip on Erik's hips in a way that he hopes is comforting, though it's as much to steady himself as it is for Erik's sake. Much to his relief, the metal in the room has stopped shaking, but Erik's mind is still in turmoil. 

"Erik?" 

"I'm not a hundred percent on this," Erik says hesitantly, craning his neck in an attempt to look at Charles, "but I think that was a contraction."

" _Shit_ ," Charles breathes, in some combination of exultation and frustration. "We need to get you to the hospital."

Erik's thoughts color with apology. 

_Don't you dare_ , Charles says. _Now come on, get up so we can get you taken care of._

Erik shifts, but makes no motion to pull himself off of Charles's cock, which, Charles realizes with a sigh, he's going to have to take care of if he doesn't want to have to drive them to the hospital with a hard-on. 

"But you..." Erik says, clearly having arrived at the same thought as Charles. Charles can _see_ Erik's resolve firming, his thoughts are that strong. 

"Don't worry about me," Charles says. "You get dressed and go sit by the door; I'll take care of myself and get the bag and such."

Erik hesitates, clearly torn, but his next contraction decides it. He sighs as he levers himself up carefully, Charles's cock sliding out with an obscene noise that makes them both groan. Erik turns back to Charles, a questioning look on his face. 

" _Go_ , before I make you," Charles says firmly. 

"Fine," Erik grumbles. "Going, going."

***

Later, Charles reflects that they should have taken the circumstances of Anya's birth as an indication of how things were going to go. 

He sighs as Anya wails again. Erik lets out a second groan into Charles's shoulder, where he buried his head the first time she cried. 

_It's like she has a sixth sense or something_ , Erik gripes. Charles snorts, though it's a little breathless. _Can you tell what she wants?_

 _She's hungry_ , Charles says, after a quick brush over their daughter's mind. 

Erik sighs heavily. "Right," he says, levering himself up and climbing off of Charles. He casts an evaluative eye at Charles's still-prominent erection as he reaches for his robe and belts it on. "I refuse to be defeated by a four-month-old. I'll go feed her, and I fully expect that," he nods at Charles's cock, "to still be there."

"You have a half hour before I give up and go back to bed," Charles says, sighing heavily when he turns to look at the clock. "I'm giving a guest lecture to graduate students at eight, and I need to not look like death warmed over."

"Well, _I_ need to not look like I've been sexually frustrated for the third night in a row," Erik huffs, sweeping out the room. 

_Still want another one?_ Charles thinks snidely at Erik, a few minutes later, when Anya is _still_ crying and, apparently, refusing to take his nipple. 

There's a pause, punctuated by a particularly loud scream from their daughter, and then, _You're using a condom tonight._


End file.
